Of Fathers and Sons
by Emerald-Leaves
Summary: Previously entitled "The Mighty King of Mirkwood". Shorts about Thranduil's thoughts of Legolas joining the Fellowship, Legolas' return home after the war, and to come, their reconciliation after the war.
1. The Mighty King of Mirkwood

**The Mighty King of Mirkwood**

It was not easy for the Elvenking of Mirkwood to show much emotion other than scorn, anger, and arrogance anymore. He was old, one of the oldest elves that yet dwelled in Middle Earth, and with such age came a sense of privilege and distinction. True, he knew that should he ever feel compelled to sail to the West he would certainly be seen as a sapling, elves there able to dwarf his age. Yet here, in this Middle Earth, he was old, ancient, and having survived so long here was certainly an accomplishment. It was an honor. He had survived countless wars, survived all the horrors the world could shove in his face and always came out on top.

Not only did his age demand respect, but his title as king certainly necessitated that he be given admiration. Not only was he an elven king of a prosperous, safe wood, he was _the _Elvenking, the last in Middle Earth, the king of the only safe haven within the most volatile forest in the land. Unlike Lórien where the elves roamed carelessly, feasting and singing in near ignorance of the world, the wood elves of Mirkwood enjoyed their lives knowing how hard their Elvenking fought, and still did, to protect them. Their merrymaking was more worth the having since they did not turn their back on the world. They fought to protect it, fought to save it, fought for the beauty, not abandoning it or ignoring its slow corruption.

Arrogance came easily as a byproduct of all he had accomplished in protecting his realm. For unlike the other elven lords and ladies left in this Middle Earth, the Elvenking did not use the protection of a magic Ring of Power. He did not need such a crutch. His realm remained safe and prosperous because of _his_ power and will alone, not because he possessed magic trinkets tainted by the enemy. He did not _need _anything else to help him. It was just him. Just him on top.

And so it was little wonder with all that he had accomplished in his long, ancient life that the Elvenking developed a sense of not just authority, but superiority when he looked out at others. His fellow elven lords were looked down upon in many respects by him for their weaknesses, for they talked much of action, yet rarely accomplished anything. They believed themselves so wise, so very noble, yet they hid in their valleys and trees like cowards.

Mortals, too, received the Elvenking's distain. Throughout his life, mortals had shown themselves frail and unreliable. They promised so much, yet never did their promises yield much fruit. Men were a nuisance as they never seemed to know when to stop breeding; spreading and corrupting the land with their squalor. Their lust for power made them foolish and overconfident. They fell so easily, their lives but a mere drop in the ocean of time.

Dwarves especial held the Elvenking's particular contempt, for he was there when the great Sindar city of Doriath fell. He watched as his home burned, his kin slaughtered before him, his people betrayed. His own mother had never come to these woods because of those foul creatures, cut down before his very eyes as she tried to flee from the unexpected attack. So many children had never had the chance to grow, so many lives not meant to die had been lost.

The creatures of stone and earth were nothing but greedy traitors that deserved only eternal damnation. No matter what others told him, dwarves would always be counted among the enemy as far as he was concerned. While he would not actively hunt them as he did other foul creatures—not from the lack of wanting, but more because even he knew that they were useful in the war against Sauron in providing suitable distractions—they would always hold his abhorrence. Never would he trust them, not even if there were no other choices before him.

No, the Elvenking of Mirkwood stood alone in his power, his strength, and his fight for peace. Allies were slow and did little as they sat in safety, promising much but giving nothing. Neutral creatures only blundered and got in the way of progress. In the end, there was only him. The others had all but abandoned him, never caring for his plight, that his home was slowly being devoured by darkness. He was alone now, but he'd come to realize, he always had been.

His apathy for the rest of the peoples of Middle Earth had been rather slow in coming, but it was steady. The more others ignored him, the more they did nothing, the more the Elvenking found himself indifferent for them as well. After all, why should he care when they did not? Why should he risk his people by spreading them out to other kingdoms when they could be used here at home? Why should he seek to make alliances with mortals when all they ever did was betray and disappoint?

Mirkwood, though dark, was still strong in the north, his people's courage and bravery made it so. His strength, his guidance and cunning had protected the wood elves thus far. His insight into the world and how it really worked was what had saved the elves of Greenwood. His kin would have him believe that the world was still good and there was so much light left, but the Elvenking knew the truth. He watched day by day as everything faded into shadow. He knew that to trust others was to invited frustration and heartache. He knew their words were spoken in desperate hope only, not reality.

So, as the Elvenking sat upon his throne, looking out over his vast kingdom, listening to the whispers of trees and the forest around him, sensing all the dangerous it contained, he could not help but be pleased with himself. The woods were calm today with little orc activity. It was not suspicious or unusual for there to be such lulls in their movements, so the Elvenking was unconcerned. He would take this day as a gift, his warriors could recuperate. And just maybe, maybe this was a sign of good fortune. Not that he would get his hopes up, but it was, after all, a possibility.

Pushing his senses out farther, the Elvenking tried to detect elven movement in the darker places of the forest, where his power had long ago faded. Remnants of his presence lingered there, mere shadows of what once was, but he tried nonetheless to sense anything there. He was especially anxious today to hear news of a certain returning party.

The Elvenking still did not know what had possessed him to aid that ranger, Lord Elrond's adopted son, when he'd come here to Mirkwood with that revolting creature from the marshes. Perhaps it had been curiosity, perhaps it had been out of respect for Mithrandir, but whatever the reason, he had provided aid to Elrondion and watched the creature called Gollum. Inwardly the king scoffed at the idea of his peer adopting a mortal, but never said his thoughts out loud, knowing what this human represented. Elrond's motivations, in the end, were just as much selfish as selfless. And so, continuing on in a similar vein, the Elvenking had housed the creature brought to him by the mortal because he saw in it a key, a key to the future.

But sons were what the Elvenking's mind lingered on as he tried to brush aside his distaste for the ranger. Letting everything for the moment fade into the back of his mind, he turned his thoughts and attention to surveying the woods, hoping to find trace of the prince returning from Imladris. He did not know why he had allowed the child to go deliver a simple message that the creature Gollum had escaped, to remain a herald between his kingdom and Elrond's, but in the end, he'd allowed the elfling to go.

Perhaps it was because Legolas had been responsible for the creatures escape to begin with. The Elvenking almost snorted as he remembered his son coming to him, pleading that he be allowed to take the creature out into the forest to walk. For whatever reason, his son had developed pity for the disgusting thing and wanted to 'help' it. The Elvenking had, of course, told his son in no short words that there was no helping such a being, so twisted and eaten away by evil, but of course the elfling would not listen. And now, because of his misplaced compassion, not only had the creature gotten away, but several good elves had perished, now waiting in the Halls of Mandos until the end of time, or whenever Námo saw fit to release them.

Legolas, too, had been injured when that orc party had attacked, and had almost been part of the casualty list. The Elvenking, as befitting his station, had not only chastised the child, but treated him as he would any of his warriors who had been so careless. He had been stern, as a king should, and was pleased that the elfling had taken his punishment with the grace of the prince he was. He expected better from a Prince of the Woodland Realm.

And so, when his greatest warrior― despite his youth― had wanted to take responsibility for his actions, had wanted to ride to Imladris with the message of the creature's escape, the Elvenking supposed he had allowed it because he was pleased the prince was taking charge and was holding himself accountable for the incident. It was good that, despite being so young, the child was not of the illusion others of their race were and ignored the severity of his actions. Legolas knew and understood, just as the Elvenking expected.

A whisper of the trees caught the Elvenking's attention, and he knew that the party from Imladris had entered the wood. A pleased smile lifted the corners of the Elvenking's lips. While of fair face, the act appeared almost sinister, the inward conceit of the king showing through, his haughty confidence shining in his eyes. He had known his party would arrive today, and he could not help being pleased with himself once more at his correct assumption. He was not so unwise as others would claim him to be. He might not have the gift of foresight, but he was certainly not blind. One did not need foresight to see the future, one merely had to look around themselves and see the signs given.

And so, pleased that the party had returned, having missed the presence of some of Mirkwood's greatest warriors, the Elvenking sat on his throne, waiting patiently for them to arrive. In a few hours, he would hear all they had to say, and then everything would return to the way it was supposed to be. While others blamed him for many things, none could fault him with impatience. The Elvenking could always wait, and he would always wait for just the perfect chance to strike. It was what made him an excellent ruler and a formidable foe.

When the great gates finally opened several hours later, it was well into the evening. Normally the Elvenking would have retired some time ago, but he lingered on his throne that night. None could call anything he did anxious, for it did not show on his face. Internally, he would not call himself restless either, for he did not believe himself to be. He had merely wanted to know what had transpired in Imladris. Curiosity compelled him to wait.

But as he gazed out into his kingdom, sharp eyes trailing the company that was coming towards him, the king's lightly upturned lips stalled and turned downwards. For the closer they came, the more aware the Elvenking became of the lack of golden hair in the midst of all the brown and red. The prince was nowhere in sight.

The group seemed almost surprised at having to report so late into the evening, but the golden haired elf king sat casually upon his throne, face neutral, as he waited. He watched seemingly apathetic as they bowed down before him, their clothes dusty from travel, some black blood that stained their tunics bespoke of a rough journey home. They were all here, the Elvenking noted, eyes burning into each of them, all except the Elvenprince.

"_Hír-nin_," the leader of the group began humbly.

"What news do you have for me." It came as more of a statement, though, despite his best efforts, questions now began buzzing in the Elvenking's mind. For the first time in a long time, he was confused, and that confusion gave way to anger.

Where was the prince?

"_Hír-nin_," the leader began, voice tense and nervous. The news he brought would obviously displease his king. "—Lord Elrond sends his greetings and fondest wishes." The warrior paused.

The anger that had been building up inside the Elvenking came out in a cold, sneering tone. "Does he?" He raised one thick brow in condescension. "That is news indeed," he mocked, becoming more enraged by the moment for such useless pleasantries. "Perhaps in his good wisdom, Lord Elrond has told you where the Elvenprince has gotten to?"

He had not meant to inquire after the child so soon, but once the question parted his lips, the Elvenking did not back down.

The warriors all shifted, once more informing their king that he was not going to like what he was about to be told. And their stalling only made their lord's wrath worse. "Prince Legolas…" the leader paused before forcing himself to go on. "—Prince Legolas has stayed on in Imladris for a…short time."

Anger swiftly turned to fury, a fire burning deeply within the Elvenking's chest. Yet while his eyes burned, his features remained ice cold, his frown quickly changing into a harsh scowl. Simultaneously he burned them with his gaze, yet froze them in place. "Has he?" his voice came out in a freezing sneer. "And on what authority did he stay? What right did he think he possessed to do this?"

Still on their knees before the king, the elven warriors would not look up to meet their king's enraged glare. Instead, the speaker of the group reached to his side and produced a letter. "_H-hír nin_, the prince asked that we give this to you."

"Then _give it_ to me," the Elvenking punctuated every word maliciously.

With trembling hands, the warrior stood and, keeping his head bowed, held up the message as an offering to his lord. It was beneath the Elvenking to stoop down to pick up anything, yet his curiosity had long since vanished and had, astonishingly, given way to impatience. It was a feeling not completely known to the golden haired elf, but he did not have time to dwell on the newness of the sensation. So instead, he bent over and swiped the message from the prince out of the hands of the shaky warrior.

So preoccupied was he with knowing what the letter contained that the Elvenking forgot to dismiss the warriors. Instead, they were made to wait as the king looked over the contents of the message in silence. But the Elvenking hardly noticed them. In fact, everything around him began to fade with each passing word. And for the first time in thousands of years, for the first time since any could rightly remember, the Elvenking became completely undone. Undone for any and all in the kingdom to see.

The coldness of his face vanished and the fire in his eyes was extinguished completely. The fair face that once held authority and fury dissolved into open shock swiftly turning into despair. And before any knew what was happening, the Elvenking, pillar of strength within the Realm of Greenwood, was shaking, face having gone stark white. And when next he looked up, it was not the Elvenking that everyone saw.

Standing up from his throne suddenly, all present bowing their heads low in reverence, Thranduil did not notice those that yet lingered. Without thought, he rushed down the stairs of the throne and hurried down the bridge, away from the warriors, from the guards, from everyone. His mind, usually so collected, compartmentalized and focused, was in complete and utter disarray.

Without thinking, his feet took him outside of the Halls and into the woods. Thranduil began looking around in vain, as though he could find Legolas out there, hiding. He knew the elfling was not here, not in Mirkwood at all, but he could not help but search anyway. Legolas _had _to be here! He should not still be in Imladris, he should be _here_!

Thranduil began running, running as fast as his legs could carry him and even just a little bit faster. His robes were discarded on the ground with little thought, and his crown only became a nuisance that he shed as well. He did not know how long he ran, how much time had passed in the world, for it felt like an eternity. And when he realized the woods were growing darker, that the pathway was becoming blocked with thorns and other twisted plant life, without stopping, he leapt into the trees and continued his mad dash into the wilderness. Had he been more aware of himself, he might have cursed for being nearly completely unarmed, only having a dagger at his side and a knife in his boot. But as it was, he did not think about that. His mind was focused on one thing and one thing only.

Eventually, when within the middle of the forest, there stood the tallest tree in Mirkwood, an old beech. As agile and light as his people were wont to be, Thranduil climbed to the very top until his head rose above the tree canopy and the world was before him. From there, he turned his attention west, straining his eyes in the night to see what he desperately desired.

He could not.

Fear and panic gripped at the usually hard heart, and an overwhelming sense of horror held the Elvenking tightly. No, not the Elvenking, just Thranduil. Just a _father_.

"Legolas, what have you done?" he whispered in the night, tears standing in his eyes, waiting to be released.

While the Elvenking of Mirkwood might have been arrogant, somewhat selfish in his desire to serve his people and his people only, always cold, there was and always had been one exception in his life that could change his indifference into attention. One being that could turn his impartial, dispassionate features into a kind, warm smile. One elf that had given him more drive, more motivation to carry on in the darkening world and not fade away or sail as so many other of their kind had.

Deep down Legolas was why Thranduil did everything he had as the Elvenking. His power had been built up more for the sake of protecting his son than anything else, his wisdom of the forest expanded in his desire to teach and guard his child. His indomitable will was a shield his son could fall back behind when needed, and his stern composure was to buffer the child from the harshest realities of the world as he had grown.

But now Legolas was gone. Now the child had stepped out completely from the safety of his father's wing and out into the open world. A world beyond Thranduil's control. A world he could not sense, could not communicate with as he could Mirkwood. A world where the Elvenking was powerless.

Panic seized the proud elf's heart once more, and to his amazement, he discovered his was panting, nearly hyperventilating. His hands found their way into his hair, and he began pulling, as if it could help him think, help him discover a way to bring his child back to him, to make this all not true.

But it was true. Legolas was not here, nor would his son be returning any time soon.

Without his leave, Thranduil's eyes turned southeast, and a chill ran down his spine.

Was this to be his son's fate? Was this truly what the Valar willed? Ever since Legolas had been born, everything he had done was to protect the child, to guard him of the horrors that Thranduil himself had been made to see. But now it seemed his son was also made to go to the one place where no father desired his son to _ever _glimpse. Now, like his father and grandfather before him, Legolas would witness the horrors of the Black Lands. He would see Mordor.

The tears he had been fighting off so viciously finally streamed down his face at the thought of his son, his only child, seeing what no elf was ever meant to. Legolas should not have gone on such a perilous journey. He should not have to endure the hardships of such an action. He was just a child, an _elfling_! Hadn't Elrond seen that? Legolas, despite everything that had befallen him in his young life, had remained a light, pure spirit! Thranduil had seen to that, had fought to retain as much of his son's innocence as he could. He'd tainted himself to give the child a chance to remain virtuous.

But now, after all his hard work, after sacrificing so much, after doing all he could to protect his only child, Legolas was going off on the most perilous journey taken in this Third Age. His pure, young son was going out into a harsh, cruel world where his father could not help him. Was he ready? Would he _survive_?

"Dear Valar," Thranduil sobbed, clutching the branches tightly lest he fall, even while his legs felt shaky. "Watch over my son," he prayed into the night, staring up at the stars. "Please. Please protect him!" And it hurt his pride to admit that _he _could not. Not any longer.

For the first time in a very long time, the mighty Elvenking of Mirkwood was completely and utterly powerless. Powerless at the time, in the one moment, where he needed to be strong, needed his power the most. For the first time in a long time, the great Elvenking was seized with such fear, he was uncertain he would ever be able to recover from its heavy blow.

Would he ever see his son again? Only time would tell. Thranduil would be forced to remain patient as for the first time in many years, he would be forced to face the future truly and completely alone.

* * *

**Author's Note:** …I have no idea what this is. It started out as a character study of PJ's Elvenking. I stress **PJ**, because if you actually _read _Tolkien's _The Hobbit_, the Elvenking is actually almost completely opposite of how he is portrayed in the movie. (I could rant on and on about how utterly _wrong _they got Thranduil in the movie, but I'll spare you). But I _did _like Lee Pace, and a bitchy Elvenking does hold a certain appeal…though solidly, I believe the character is _not _an asshole.

Anyway, I started out trying to figure out the reasons why he could be such an ass in movie-verse, and then one thing led to another and…well…here you are. Weird how I sort of meshed up Movie!Thranduil and more of a Book!Legolas.

Anywho, if you liked any of this, please drop a review on the way out! Thanks! :)


	2. Homecoming

**Homecoming **

The closer he got to the large forest of the north, the more apprehensive Legolas became. Even from his current distance, he could see smoke rising up in the south, a testament to the battle that had raged at Dol Guldur while he had been away on his quest with the Fellowship. A stab of guilt threatened to unseat the lone elf as he rode on, and he couldn't help the feeling of sorrow that washed over him. Sorrow for the forest that had been so polluted and destroyed in the dark battle, sorrow for the wildlife that had been killed and scattered, and most of all, sorrow for his kin and all the lives not meant to be lost that had passed.

It had only been a month since the defeat of Sauron, but it strangely felt longer. And it seemed an eternity since last he was home. Strange indeed, as Legolas had never really stop to consider time. He'd never felt is as keenly as he had over the past year. And now as he rode homeward, he couldn't help realize just how much things could change in that so very short span of time. Especially when he was not there to see it.

Sighing, feeling more depressed the closer he rode to the forest, the young elf tried his best to rally his spirits. He had a lot to be thankfully for, after all. The war was over. _Over_! The war his forbearers had suffered and bled for was finally at an end. There was a king on the Throne of Gondor. The Black Lands were all but empty and destroyed. Arda was slowly turning towards peace. And while on his quest, he had come away with making many dear and wonderful new friends―even with a _dwarf_!

Smiling at the thought of Gimli, Legolas wondered if his friend was still in Gondor or if he, too, had felt the calling of home. Originally they had decided to visit the Glittering Caves and Fangorn Forest together before heading their separate ways. But after some time and consideration― and after wallowing in the guilt of leaving home without much warning, all but abandoning his post in Mirkwood on Legolas' part―they had decided that it would be wiser to go to their homes to sort out personal affairs first.

Besides, postponing the trip only meant that they could then anticipate seeing one another again soon. Legolas especially liked the idea, as a part of him was worried that perhaps the dwarf would change his mind about their friendship, worried that as soon as they left one another with no promises or plans of seeing the other again, Gimli would remember the old feuds and retract his friendship. At least with the excursions to Fangorn and the Glittering Caves meant that the dwarf couldn't back out just yet. It meant that, at least for a little while longer, Legolas could claim friendship in the dwarrow.

Shaking his head of such gloomy thoughts, knowing he had enough to worry about, the young archer turned his focus ahead. To his home. To his _father_.

A chill ran down Legolas's spine at the thought of the Elvenking. Most beings in Middle Earth that had ever had an encounter with the King of Mirkwood were inclined to…not think well of him, to put it mildly. Even among the Eldar, the Elvenking was a…an acquired taste. Between his strong will and stubborn nature, the great feats he'd accomplished in his reign and his survival in this world, King Thranduil had become his own unique brand of authority. One that even elves found hard to swallow sometimes.

Legolas, while growing up, had recognized that his father was powerful, but he had not truly comprehended the extent of that power. Being the only major elven ruler in Middle Earth without a Ring of Power meant that the Elvenking had been forced to use other means in order to protect his people. And the fact that the wood elves of the north fought not only to protect their homes, but also― for _centuries_― to keep the evils of the woods contained _within _the forest, proved that the Elf King was not weak. For nearly three thousand years his father had kept his people safe as well as ensuring that other beings in the world would largely remain unaffected by the evils that, until the end, spilled out of the south of the forest. Such a feat was hardly insignificant.

But for all of his accomplishments in the world, over the centuries, one could hardly call the Elvenking humble. No, in fact, Legolas had come to learn that most beings did not _like _his father. Most saw him as arrogant; narcissistic even. The prince wasn't sure how he felt about the accusations given that most of time, when it was just he and his father, Thranduil was nearly a completely different person.

When with his son, King Thranduil was just…Thranduil. He would laugh and smile and hug his child just the same as any parent. His father was tender and warm, but cold and fierce when adorning the crown. He'd had to be. Mirkwood was wild, dangerous. In order to survive, to rule, one had to be just a little more savage than the woods themselves.

And despite remembering the tenderness of a father, it was the wild king that Legolas feared now. By running off to join the Fellowship, the young archer had committed a very serious crime. He had abandoned his post and gone against the strict orders of his king. The consequences of such actions were severe, and with a shudder of guilt, the prince knew he would have to stand trial before the Elvenking. He had to pay for his crimes. The thought was utterly terrifying. How would the king react to the return of a deserter?

It was a lovely day out, however, and the blond decided to focus on that. Having passed out of the desolate, destroyed area of the wood, the forest became quite lovely. The trees looked greener and bird calls could be heard in the distance. Despite so much pain and suffering, things were getting better. Life was getting better. There was so much hope now looking forward.

As he neared the palace, Legolas became captivated when he saw the green and golden banners of his father's Hall lining the elven path. It had been centuries since last the banners had been placed out. Not since before Legolas had been born, actually. His mother had told him stories once about her first trip into the Greenwood. She had told him about riding under the boughs, marveling at the old posts and gates, the banners of the Elvenking marking a safe path to his Halls. But once the world darkened yet again, the elf path through the dense forest had been covered, masked. Statues that had not been destroyed were removed or hidden away, the path even more so. And of course, the banners were removed. People began to forget about the existence of the elves of Mirkwood save in legend and myth as the forest was slowly closed off to the wide world.

The sight of them now, however, blowing gently in the breeze, filled the young elf with an unexpected swell of emotion. He felt pride, joy, relief, and other swirling things he wasn't sure what to do with. He was simply overwhelmed at the sight, the knowledge that, after so long, after so many terrible hurts, his home was finally free of darkness. It could heal. It _was _healing.

Ignoring the tears that stung his eyes, riding on, the young warrior relaxed slightly. If the banners were out it meant that the wary folk of the forest actually deemed it safe enough to have them placed for all to see. They did not expect enemies to follow the trail to the Elven Hall. They felt _safe. _The thought of the people's apparent ease again filled the prince with a deep sense of wonder and delight.

Deep verdant green, stitched with gold as bright as the sun, were the merry banners of the Elf King. Green for the forest. Gold for the stars. Even when under the trees, the gold gleamed brilliantly, happily rallying those who followed them on towards their goal. Cheering their prince home.

Another twist of anxiety churned the young _ellon_'s stomach at the thought. He wanted to go home, yearned for it with all his being, yet he could not help the fear that gripped his heart. Home was safe and warm. Home was beautiful and familiar. Home was where his father was. But it was also where the Elvenking resided.

A sigh escaped the prince yet again. There was nothing he wanted more to do than see his father again, but could admit to wanting to hold off seeing the king. As fair and just as his sovereign might be, the Elvenking was not above being swayed by his passions. As hard as the Elvenking tried to remain impartial, his temper often got in the way. If hurt or offended, one could not rightly anticipate the Elveking's decisions or action. If he felt betrayed…Legolas didn't want to think about what his punishment would be should the Elvenking deem the prince's actions traitorous. The consequences were truly too horrendous for the young elf to bear.

But bear it he would. There was simply no other choice. A year ago, while in Rivendell, Legolas had considered every possibility of the mission he would undertake. He'd thought of what he was risking, the real possibility that he would die. He'd thought about any suffering he'd likely undergo, of seeing others suffer, of losing friends, his own health. He had thought over his abandonment of his post as a Captain of Mirkwood, his willful dismissal of the Elvenking's call to home. But most of all, he'd thought about his father.

In the end, when all else was put aside, all Legolas had was his father. Ever since his mother had died when he'd been very young, all he'd ever known was the love of a father. All lessons, teachings, comfort, affection had come from his father. Despite his faults, Thranduil had always been there for his son, had always cared for him, helped him. If confused, the young elf sought his father's council. If lost, he looked to his father for guidance. If frightened, hurt, Legolas ran into the waiting arms of his father's warm embrace.

And how had Legolas finally repaid all of his father's love? By running away with little word or notice, to go out into the world, abandoning his responsibilities, his duty, his people, his _father_, for a suicide mission. He had betrayed Thranduil in almost every conceivable way. After all his father had done to protect and care for him, Legolas had spat on that gift and willingly walked away, turning his back on Thranduil's care. It must have crushed his father. And it must have infuriated the Elvenking.

Would he be welcomed back? Would his father forgive him? The Elvenking had punished severely for less. The law of the forest called for no favoritism. Even if he was the son of the king, Legolas held no illusions that he would walk way unpunished. His actions in abandoning his realm were severe, and it didn't matter his cause. When he'd left, the young warrior had been absolutely certain that joining the Fellowship was of the greatest importance, that he was truly helping his people ― and _all _peoples―against the darkness. He still did. He did not regret joining the Fellowship. He did, however, regret leaving with the Fellowship the way he had. He regretted having to hurt the one person he loved above all others.

But he was, if nothing else, raised a Prince of Mirkwood, and he would not run from his punishment. The least he could do for his people was step forward and accept the penalty for his crimes. He would face the Elvenking and the wrath to follow, perhaps explain his reasons for going, not offer excuses, and wait. Wait to hear the king's verdict. With any luck, maybe the king _wouldn't _banish him. Maybe he wouldn't have to be cast out and completely shamed.

His rather melancholy hopefulness was interrupted when several elves fell to the ground from the trees, blocking his path. The Elven Guard. In the back of his mind, Legolas had been wondering when he'd see them. He was both relieved and terrified at seeing them again. What did they think of him?

When they straightened from their crouches, instantly, three pairs of dark eyes widened in surprise. "P-Prince Legolas!" one gasped.

Legolas gave a shaky smile before thinking better of it and attempted to smooth his features into a relaxed, yet commanding expression. He knew he utterly failed, but pretended not to notice. "Captain," he greeted as neutrally as possible. "All clear along the front?" A now relatively obsolete greeting now, one born of war, but it was so engrained into the prince and the others, all knew they would be speaking it for years to come.

"I-I…uh, yes, sir," the captain nodded, eyes still wide, as if he were looking at one back from the dead.

With a horrified jolt, Legolas wondered if they had indeed thought him dead. Did his father think he had gone to Mandos? Was the Elvenking, at that moment, writhing in the throes of agony, fading away, believing his only son had died?

Feeling a new spark of panic, the young elf stared at his people and asked, tightly, "The Elvenking?"

Perhaps sensing his desperation, the warrior responded quickly, "In the Halls. In court, I imagine."

There was no way to keep the relief from his face, so Legolas didn't even try. His emotions were everywhere and he didn't― couldn't― pretend he was at all calm anymore. So, with a shaky nod, he turned his eyes back up the path. He needed to get home. The urgency redoubled itself in his chest. There could be _no _more delay.

As he gently redirected his mount back towards home, the guard walked along side him. "We'll send someone ahead to announce you, _hír nin_."

"No," Legolas shook his head, his stomach twisting in knots. "I…I don't wish to…create a large scene," he admitted. "I must get to the Elvenking."

"Aye, sir," the warrior nodded. "But surely his highness would want―"

"Please," Legolas couldn't bring himself to look at the others. "I…I will go before him immediately. Please don't…alert anyone."

Had he been looking, the prince might have seen the surprise and concern on his friends' faces. But as it was, he didn't, and he was so anxious he did not notice the relief and joy they exuded when they'd seen him. His sole focus was on the Elvenking's Halls. On his father.

"Yes, my lord," the warrior replied slowly.

"Thank you," Legolas answered quietly. And in his enhanced anxiety, decided he needed to get moving faster. "I must go. Farewell." And with a gentle kick to his mount's sides, he took off down the path.

Quick as lightning Arod tore through the forest, a streak of grey against the background of green. Legolas held on tight, even urging the beast just a little bit faster if manageable. The closer they got, the more frantic Legolas became. The need to be home overwhelming. The need to see his father, to make sure he was well, consumed him.

No one stopped his mad dash through the woods, and it was only when he came to the bridge, saw the great elven gates to enter his father's kingdom, did the prince stop. He was quivering with nerves as he jumped from Arod's back. He patted the horse, before whispering his eternal thanks. "Return to your own lands in the Riddimark if you wish," he told him, before turning his entire attention to his home.

The elven guard was everywhere now, and there were people out and about― in the trees, on the ground, on the bridge― but he didn't stop for them. They stared, some called out to him, but Legolas didn't hear. All he could hear was the pounding of his heart in his ears, feel his stomach knotting itself in worry. This was it, after all. The defining moment. Either all would be forgiven or it wouldn't. He needed to apologize in any case. Hopefully one day his father would at least understand his actions.

Two elven guards took to leading him, and the prince didn't protest. As they walked through the halls, gathering a lot of attention as went, Legolas began considering what he would do when before the Elvenking. Knowing King Thranduil liked to be shown respect and humility, Legolas decided he would need to bow down. He would get down on his hands and knees. Had he thought of it earlier, he would have taken to covering himself in ash to show complete and total repentance. But he had not thought of that, so he hoped bowing with his face to the floor would do. He would speak his story quickly, apologize and beg before listening to the Elvenking's ruling.

When they came across the bridge leading to the throne, Legolas held his breath. He could see his father now. The Elvenking sat upon his throne in all his majestic glory. The expression on the noble face was one of tight control. The king was displeased, perhaps annoyed, as he sat listening to a group of advisors. Legolas couldn't quite think of a worse time to have interrupted, but it was too late now.

In all his fear, the prince did not rightly comprehend his father's full appearance. Had the young elf not been so nervous, he would have noted that under his father's kingly anger sat a tiredness and sorrow that struck deep to the bone. Legolas did not see the dark bruises under the normally sharp blue eyes. Did not notice how pale and shallow the king's face had become or comprehend the weight the ancient being had lost in the past year.

As it was, Legolas saw only what he expected to see: The Elvenking, so cool and opposing on his throne, ready for judgment. And while seeing this, he hadn't realized how much he was shaking before the guard spoke, causing the young _ellon_ to flinch.

"_Hír nin_," the guard announced their presence.

Instantly harsh blue eyes slid away from the advisors to settle on the new comers. Legolas momentarily froze under the frosty stare, feeling the intense orbs burning him alive. There was no escaping now.

For a moment father and son merely stared at one another. As Legolas' fear and sorrow burst forth for the entire court to see, the Elvenking's face betrayed absolute shock. When before the court, his father never showed anything save absolute confidence, poise, or anger. Seeing him sit there, astonished at the presence of the prince finally pushed the younger elf into action. He couldn't take it anymore. The guilt, shame, sorrow, and everything else was breaking his heart and he needed the relief of confession.

So, pushing past everyone, coming before the throne, the prince fell to the floor, bowing as deeply as he could. "I-I'm sorry," he blurted, face heating with embarrassed shame. "M-my actions, my abandonment of my p-post was inexcusable," he pushed on, trying to control himself, to be the prince he was raised to be and not the terrified child he felt like. "I-I have no excuse. I only did what I'd thought best at the time, a-and I beg your forgiv―"

He never got to finish.

Suddenly something grab him by his shoulders, pulling him up. Legolas momentarily panicked, tensing for attack, but was stunned when he found himself in a tight embrace. A hand was buried in his hair clutching almost painfully, while another was wrapped around his back, clinging desperately. It took nearly a full minute more before the young elf realized it was his father, down on his knees, face buried in his neck, trembling hard. Sobbing.

Utterly lost, unable to quite grasp what was happening, the prince sat on his knees, completely still, looking about, trying to make sense of what was going on. But as reality sunk in, as his father's arms tightened impossibly tighter around him, the damn that the young elf had been fighting all day burst, and tears sprang from his eyes as he clutched his father closer, hugging him fiercely.

The two did not notice the stunned guards or advisors or anyone else that might have been watching. Nor would they have much cared if they had. There was only the two of them, all the anxieties finally flowing out, the chains of worry dissolving while in each other's embrace. And as they wept in utter relief against each other, Legolas couldn't help but smile as he felt his father press a kiss to his face, knowing he had come home to his ever loving father.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sequel –ish to The Mighty King of Mirkwood. Thinking of writing another short to finish everything off where Thranduil and Legolas actually talk about the journey with the Fellowship and the battle at Dol Guldur. Sound interesting?

And I've kept Legolas more bookish, while Thranduil is being portrayed more in movie!verse. I greatly despised that PJ set Legolas and Thranduil up against each other in the movie, and gave them a rather toxic relationship. I don't think that's the case. Even if Thranduil is a bit of an ass, I don't see him being so hard or evil-ish to his son…So yeah.

Take this as you will. Review welcomed. :)


	3. Reconciliation

**Reconciliation **

By the time father and son had composed themselves well enough to let one another go, the first thing that registered to Legolas' senses was that they were alone. Thankfully everyone had gone, knowing that privacy was what their monarchs needed. The Elvenking was not one that liked an audience to such displays despite his flair for dramatics when it came to anger. While he would never admit it, Legolas knew showing such deeply felt emotions embarrassed his father, scared him, as the older elf's life had hardly been peaceful. Such exhibits of what he perceived as weakness had only hurt in the past.

So, glad that there was no one else around now, the prince pulled away slightly, wanting to see his father's face for comfort. But for all his gentleness, it was Thranduil that pulled away first. Legolas gasped as he looked into the devastated face before him. One eye completely missing, a blackened hole where the sapphire orb had once sat, sinew and muscle exposed cheek, and angry red scars across his face, down his neck, a piece of his nose missing at the side.

And while so close, it was easy to see that the other half of the face was little better. Pale skin, shallow cheek, and a dark bruise under the remaining eye. It only then registered to the prince that his father had lost weight. That he had become almost sickly in his son's absence.

Still holding his son's shoulders, Thranduil's sole eye roved over his child's face, panic burning acutely from within the remaining orb. The king was still shaking; the tears from before streaking down the remaining cheek. It had been years since Legolas had seen his father's scars, but he'd never seen them before so vividly. In the past, the glamour only slipped when the elder elf was particularly agitated, losing control of his temper. But even then Thranduil had had the presence of mind to keep it partially raised so that not even his son had known the extent of the damage done many centuries before.

Now Legolas knew.

"A-are you hurt?"

The slurred, distorted question brought the prince out of his musings as he stared in sorrow at his father. "No," he responded immediately. It astonished the younger _ellon _that he had caused his father so much suffering. Enough that he lost control over his most heavily guarded secret. His deep and regretted curse.

"Don't lie," the rebuke was sharp despite the impediment caused by the deconstruction of the face. "Are you hiding any injuries?"

"No," Legolas said again, shaking his head. Tears still streamed down from his eyes as he watched his father feel over his shoulders, his back, before one mutilated hand and one pale, roved over his face, as if he could find some hidden hurt, before both hands rested on either side of the young elf's face. "I-I wasn't hurt," the prince replied. "Not s-severely anyway. Just normal s-scrapes and bruises that have long since healed."

One cold blue eye shone with obvious suspicion, but eventually, relief left no room for anymore doubt. When a sigh that relieved tension parted from the king's lips, and he looked down. It took several more shuddered breathes before the king was able to gaze up at his son again, but this time, the prince was met with not the relief and anxiety of before. In an instant he knew he was not looking at his father anymore, but rather, the Elvenking.

Before the prince knew what was happening, his father reeled back one hand as best as he could in their current position, rage radiating from deep within, before slapping the younger elf across the face. Legolas' head snapped to the side, following the motion, having not been prepared.

It took him a full minute to register the fact that he had been struck, but even through the sting, he was glad of it. Glad to finally be getting the punishment he deserved. Seeing his father fall apart so completely …the prince was comforted to know that Thranduil was slowly gathering himself back up again. He deserved this, deserved to be punished after all he had done.

But as he turned back towards the Elvenking, his father was there once more, eye wide in absolute horror. Instantly Thranduil's hand reached out to his son, hovering just over the cheek he'd struck, regret and worry causing what remained of his lip to quiver. What little color the Sindar had retained fled.

"I-I'm so s-s-sorry," he whispered in shock. His hand continued to hover, never quite touching_._

Shaking his head, Legolas found himself once again crushed with guilt for making his father feel so utterly miserable. "No, i-it's fine. I…I deserved that."

"Never!" Thranduil hissed.

The two sat in silence before sitting back away from one another, their arms useless at their sides or in their laps. It was the king who stood first, Legolas quickly scrabbling to his feet a moment after. And for several tense, eternal minutes, the two just stared around them, refusing to look at one another despite wanting to look at nothing else. And when next the prince did sneak a peek at his father, his face was slowly weaving itself back together. The glamoured eye had returned, milky and cloudy, but there, and the scars up his neck and hand were hidden once more, reconstructing slowly.

And with a shuddered breath, running a hand through his long, pale hair, Thranduil finally met his son's gaze. "You…are well?" he asked, words coming out much more clearly. "Truly?"

A nervous laugh escaped the prince as he nodded. "Yes."

The Elvenking stared at the young warrior, scrutinizing, before the tension in his shoulders finally relaxed. The glamour did not return in full yet, indicating to the prince that his father was still having difficulties controlling what he was feeling. Which was understandable. After all, it was not everyday a wayward son returned home safe and unharmed after a nearly impossible mission. Despite his long life, his centuries of experience, Thranduil had finally come into a situation he did not know how to deal with, it appeared. It was obvious he was torn between the duties of a king and the desires of a father.

But the elder elf nodded, hands clasped together, as if trying to find the words he so desperately seemed to want to speak. "I'm…" he trailed off, before glancing up at his son. His eyes refused to look at his handprint on his son's face. It was actually the first time his father had ever struck Legolas.

The realization, however, was short lived, and he remembered his earlier fear when a black scowl formed on the king's face. Suddenly he was not _Ada_ anymore. Bracing himself, Legolas bowed his head just as Thranduil snarled, "What were you thinking?"

Legolas felt himself shrink, but said nothing.

"What were you thinking?!" the king bellowed, remembering his anger. "Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?! Are you insane?! Running off on some…some…_suicide _mission," he spat.

The prince stared down at the floor, face burning with shame and guilt. Every word was deserved, every snarl and scowl, yet the young elf felt himself shiver in the wake of his father's rage. He had expected this, knew it was coming, but to hear the absolute fury in the king's voice, especially after what had just passed between them, made the archer feel suddenly very, very small. As though he were nothing but an elfling, having gotten caught breaking the rules. Only unlike when he was a child, Legolas knew that he would not get off with a simple reprimand and a slap to the bottom.

Thranduil, either ignoring or oblivious to his son's state, began pacing, his movement sharp and jerking. It was like watching a caged warg, knowing that soon the enclosure would not be enough to contain him. "A letter?" the king continued in his tirade. "All I get is a short letter explaining to me why you weren't coming home?"

Unable to keep quiet, Legolas lifted his head, trying to explain, "I just thought―"

"No," Thranduil turned, hissing, absolutely livid. "No, I don't believe you did _think_. Did you even read what you'd written at all? What was it I supposed to make of it?"

"I thought―"

"'_Dear Ada._'" Legolas froze midsentence. "'_I regret to inform you that I will not be coming home_,'" Thranduil quoted spitefully, causing the younger _ellon_ to wince. "'_I have been asked personally by Lord Elrond to undertake an important quest_."

"I-I just thought…" Legolas whispered feebly, absolutely sick at having his own words thrown back in his face.

But it was obvious is father wasn't feeling at all merciful. Instead, the king continued to pace, reciting the letter his son had sent him a year ago from memory. "'_I feel that this quest may be the most important mission of my life, and I will accompany a new Fellowship as far as it may go. It is my duty not only to our home, but to all of Middle Earth. I do not suppose I will ever see you again_,'" his voice cracked as he spoke the last part.

If there was a way for Legolas to feel any worse, he wasn't sure how. All he could do was stare down at the floor, unable to look at his father for fear of crying. The last thing he wanted to do was break down again, especially while his father was so angry.

"'_I do not suppose I will ever see you again_,'" Thranduil pushed on, "'_but know that I go of my own free will and with the hopes that I can, perhaps, do my part in ending the darkness that has befallen the land. Do not send for me. If able, I will return to you, Valar willing. Your son, Legolas_.'"

Silence fell over the two elves, but while Thranduil's eyes burned into his son, Legolas refused to meet them. He wouldn't be able to take it. The fact was, he _had _read over his letter― many, many times― before sending it off with the others to deliver to his father. He'd agonized over what to say, trying to relate what he felt, yet unable to give much detail due to the sensitivity of the topic if the letter should fall into enemy hands. But hearing the letter out loud, hearing the anger and anguish in his father's voice, what was meant to be a letter of hope and perhaps bitter comfort should anything befall the prince, sounded absolutely thoughtless and wholly wretched to the young elf's ears now.

"And that's all I get?" the king asked quietly. "One small _note_? Do you have any idea what this sounded like to me? Did you even think you would survive?"

Truth be told, Legolas _hadn't _thought he would live to see his home again. While he had kept an optimistic attitude when with his friends, it was largely for their sakes rather than any real hope of living to see the end. The truth was the prince had not been expecting to live much longer after his time in the Golden Wood. After Gandalf's fight with the Balrog and death, the wood elf had begun to realize how truly dangerous their mission was. It wasn't just about killing a few orc. There were creatures in the world much more dangerous than giant spiders. There had not always been trees to hide and take refuge in, or the comfort of knowing that his father's stronghold was near at hand.

It was in Lothlórien, when grieving, that Legolas had truly contemplated mortality for the first time. Of course he'd thought about it before leaving on the quest, but now that he'd heard the letter out loud, he wondered if part of him hadn't just been being melodramatic. He had not truly known mortality, never thought of it for himself until Mithrandir's passing, and it only became truly real as he watched Boromir die. And when he'd been fighting at Helms Deep, so outnumbered, it was the first time Legolas had felt a true thrill of hopelessness, wondering if at least his body would be found among the dead, or if it could ever be returned to his father.

But he did not share his morbid contemplated lessons with his father. It was clear that the elder elf would not be able to take it. Death was something Thranduil understood very well, too well for one never meant to die. If a simple letter had torn him apart so, Legolas feared what a confirmation of his fears might do.

"After all I've done for you," the ancient elf continued. "After all I've gone through to protect you, to keep you safe, you run off the first chance you get and place your life _needlessly_ in danger! And don't you dare argue with me about its necessity," he snarled, narrowing his eyes at his usually defensive son. "There were plenty of other elves left in Arda that Elrond could have asked to go. Why not Glorfindel?" He laughed humorlessly. "He couldn't sparehis mighty Balrog Slayer and had to send out a _child_ instead?"

"_Ada_, you're not being―"

"What?" Thranduil snapped. "Fair? Reasonable? Oh no, Legolas," his voice dropped into something deadly. "I'm being completely sensible. If Elrond wanted to sacrifice an elfling, why hadn't he sent one of _his _sons? He has three children, why did he have to sacrifice my _one_?"

The anguished bitterness left the younger elf breathless. While still so ashamed and guilty for what he had put his father through, Legolas also couldn't help but feel touched. Despite his gruffness, his cold arrogance with others, Thranduil loved his son. His father _loved_ him. It was so clear for any and all to see. The archer wondered how anyone could have believed his father heartless.

As the Elvenking fought to gain control over himself after his last outburst, Legolas stood steady, waiting for the punishment that was sure to come. He almost wished his father would just hit him again.

Another deep breath and Thranduil turned frosty eyes upon his child. "You abandoned your post," his voice came out even, but no less angry. "You abandoned your responsibilities here in your realm, a captain of my Royal Patrol. You blatantly disregarded and disobeyed your king after given clear instruction. You not only put yourself at risk, you potentially endangered your realm by leaving your men."

Legolas closed his eyes, waiting for the Elvenking's judgment.

"But all that being said―" The younger elf chanced a glance up after hearing his father's sigh. "―what you did, the quest you undertook, directly resulted in the coming of peace to Arda. To this realm."

Legolas could only gape at the Elvenking in shock.

"Word has reached even here of your great deeds, Legolas," Thranduil's eyes melted, the harsh coldness finally thawing. "You braved not only the journey through Moria, but saw a Balrog of Morgoth face to face. You ran across the plains of the Riddermark and survived the greatest siege of this age. You walked through the paths of the dead, and stood before the Black Gates.

"You are part of the Fellowship of the Ring. One of the Nine Walkers. The Nazgûl Slayer. And I…I couldn't be more proud to have you as my son."

That was it. Legolas couldn't take it anymore. Without thought, he rushed forward and into his father's arms. The two elves embraced once again.

"I'm so sorry, _Ada_," the prince mumbled into his father's chest. "I just…I just did what I thought was right. I never meant to hurt you," he confessed, feeling the weight he had carried with him since Rivendell finally ease.

Thranduil stroked his son's hair, holding him gently, before placing a kiss atop his head. "I know, son. I know."

Pulling away, the prince found he felt more relieved than he had before. The worst was over. The storm of his father's anger had past and he was still here. His father understood. His father forgave him. His father still lovedhim.

When they forced themselves apart, Legolas let out a nervous laugh, wiping his eyes, unashamed of his tears. "So…what now?" he asked, uncertain as to how to move on from here.

"Now?" Thranduil smiled at his son, his face whole, the glamour complete once more. "Now you will go clean up and prepare for a feast. Our hero has returned to us at last! We must celebrate!"

The younger elf smiled, a slight flush coming over his face at the praise. "I am hungry," he admitted with a sheepish grin.

"Of course you are," the king nodded patiently.

Beaming at his father, Legolas turned to go, the idea of being clean and refreshed very appealing after the long journey and emotional turmoil that had only just occurred. But as he was walking down towards the bridge, his father called out to him. "And Legolas?"

"Yes?" he answered, dutifully turning around.

With a mock-benevolent smile, walking towards his son, the Elvenking replied too sweetly, "You are absolutely forbidden from leaving this realm again until I say otherwise."

The prince blinked, opening his mouth to argue, but Thranduil held up his hand. "Go and get ready for the feast," he lightly pushed his son in the direction of his room. "I will give you your list of punishments for your disobedience tomorrow."

Legolas winced, having a very bad feeling that mucking the stalls was going to be his fate for a long, long time. But being simply too relieved to be home and forgiven, he didn't mind much. "Yes, _Ada_," he sighed playfully, before walking off towards his room. His father's low chuckled following him as he went.

It was good to be home.

* * *

**Author's Note: ** Aaaaand, that's it for this one, folks. Hope you enjoyed it.

And I don't normally like to toot my own horn, but if y'all are interested in my writing, and want more Thranduil, please check out my other story _Trials by Fire_. I'm attempting to write a full length drama about a young Thranduil living in Doriath, explain how he got his scars, and will continue until after the destruction of Doriath and the displacement of the Sindar elves. It's been an idea I've had in the back of my mind literally for years now, but with the final _Hobbit _movie out, I think I'm actually brave enough to post. So, please go check it out if you want to see my take on what happened to make Thranduil into the stern, sometimes portrayed nasty king that he is in _The Hobbit_.

Thanks for reading! Drop a comment on your way out, as I'd be most beholdin' to ya!


End file.
